


10 minutes ago

by unforgetabELLE



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: A cinderella inspired story, Adrinette, Alya and Nino too!, F/M, Identity Reveal, Kinda..., Ladybug - Freeform, Rodgers & Hammerstein's Cinderella, chat noir - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-03 14:44:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12750408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unforgetabELLE/pseuds/unforgetabELLE
Summary: She held her head high, but her eyes darted around the room and her hand held onto the railing for dear life. She was a masterpiece clearly unused to appreciation, and Adrien was inexplicably drawn to her.Then she met his gaze, and he was instantly at the bottom of the stairs, mesmerized by the way her eyes seemed to hold the dust of the stars captive in their depths. He could still hear the deafening silence in the room, but couldn’t bring himself to care.“Would you…” he held out his hand when she finally was on the last step, and she placed hers in his immediately.“Yes."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mari_Poppins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari_Poppins/gifts).



> As promised! Here's part 1 out of 7 of this Adrienette fluff spectaculathon !

“And the winner is…” Marinette crossed her fingers, her legs, her toes...everything possible, as she waited on baited breath for the announcer to finish.

“Marinette Dupain-Chang!” She winced slightly at the mispronunciation of her name, but walked out with a smile regardless. Thankfully, she was greeted by her mentor who took the plaque from the presenter and handed Marinette the award instead. Tikki looked at her fondly before leaning into the microphone.

“Congratulations Miss Dupain- _ Cheng _ ,” she emphasized her name and Marinette giggled as she moved to hug the woman who had been her rock throughout the entire design competition. It had been terrifying at first, giving up a job offer at an established company to work for a year with only the hope of a payoff at the end. The job offer had been an assistant's role, nothing with any design influence or creativity, but it came with the possibility of promotion and the guarantee of connections. Still, the thought of working eighty hour weeks and creating nothing terrified Marinette more than possibly being broke by the end of the year. Besides, she had a relatively successful online business; she’d hoped it could hold her over if her risk didn’t pay off. But she didn’t have to worry about that anymore, because she’d actually done it!

It had been long and arduous, but Tikki was a godsend, and Marinette had managed to come out on top of the country’s most prestigious design competition. Now, she’d won her own storefront, a quarter of a million euros, and the honor of being invited to the AC gala next month to rub shoulders with the elitist of elite in the Paris fashion world.

It was… a lot. Almost too much. She’d hoped, but she never dared expect that she’d win. She was competing against much older and more experienced designers. She was talented, sure, and she’d refined her skills since she was young, even attending the best design school in the country for university, but that didn’t guarantee her anything. This was a gift, and Marinette was acutely aware of how fortunate she was to be given a chance to earn it.

She pulled back from Tikki’s embrace, tears in her eyes as she waved off her offer to say a few words. Marinette was lucky she’d managed not to make a fool of herself and trip walking up to accept her award. She wouldn’t press her luck. Instead, she turned out to the audience and took a bow, excited beyond words to start this new chapter of her life.

 

Two weeks later, she sat in the shell of what would soon be her own boutique, staring blankly at a notebook that should hold the design for her gala dress. It was  _ only _ the most important networking night of her young design career, so of course she was hitting a complete mental block. She had formal designs, of course. She needed to impress and had been designing away since she won the competition, her notebooks  _ overflowing _ with wonderful designs. But none of them would work. Why? Because the world liked to make a laughingstock of Marinette’s preparations. That’s why.

She looked disdainfully again at the invitation to the gala that had arrived the day before. 

_ Victorian-Era Masquerade _ .

She shook her head. Rich people confounded her. Let’s pick the most exclusive theme possible, forcing everyone to wear custom gowns they’ll probably never put on again just to show everyone how  _ luxurious _ it is to be us.

Marinette sighed for the hundredth time, pushing back from her desk and letting her chair spin in a lazy circle. She looked around, taking in her store and letting her mind wander to happier thoughts as she allowed herself to imagine all that it  _ would _ be. Only a skeleton now, she painted it in her mind’s eye with the palate of her dreams. She had nothing against custom designs, of course, but there was no need to make it unattainable or be wasteful. That was what she wanted her brand to represent. She’d started off just designing for friends, her only reward seeing their face light up when something fit their body  _ and their personality _ perfectly. She wanted that for everyone who walked into her store.

It wasn’t going to be easy, she knew that, and her boutique couldn’t survive on just smiles as payment. Marinette wasn’t stupid, and her second degree was in small business management. She knew what she needed to do to succeed; she just knew she could give people quality and custom pieces that would last without bankrupting them in the process.

She was on about the tenth revolution of her chair when the bell above the door sang out and she turned to see Tikki looking at her in amusement.

“Designing up a storm, I see,” she smirked at her mentee and Marinette just groaned, putting her foot down to stop her spinning and feeling her equilibrium slosh at the interrupted momentum. She blinked, trying to see past the spots in her vision.

“Masquerade, Tikki,” she whined. “ _ Victorian-Era _ masquerade.”

“Sounds fun,” Tikki piped back and Marinette just gave her a look. “Okay, okay,” she laughed, walking across the room and coming to sit on Marinette’s desk, the only other piece of furniture currently in the store. She dropped a paper wrapped bundle in front of her that smelled heavenly of bread and peppers and cheese...And Tikki was immediately forgiven.

“Seriously, though?” Marinette questioned, still dubious, but attention divided as she realized she hadn’t eaten that day--as Tikki no doubt assumed-- and started tearing into the sandwich.

“Okay, fine. It sounds overly extravagant and unnecessary,” Tikki admitted, but then turned a narrow eye on Marinette. “But it also sounds like a challenge. Have you become soft on me? When have you ever turned down a challenge?”

“When it involved a hoop skirt. Especially  _ me _ in a hoop skirt. Can you imagine?”

Tikki laughed outwardly at that, no doubt imagining Marinette’s already shaky grace further hindered by a series of ring the size of a house attached to her hips.

“I’m not Cinderella, Tikki.”

“Who says you have to be?” Tikki looked at her seriously. Then with a wink, she kissed her cheeks and was out the door again. Marinette just stared after he, the words slow to process.

“ _ Not _ Cinderella,” Marinette muttered to herself, her mind racing through possibilities as it came to her. A smile lighting up her face, she pushed the forgotten sandwich to the side and grabbed her notebook. Pencil flying over paper. A smudge here, a flounce there, a cascade in the back…

 

~*~

 

Adrien donned a bowtie for the first time in two years. One benefit of volunteering abroad was that there was rarely a need for a cumberbund and coat tails. But he wasn’t in Mongolia anymore and he had to hold up his end of the deal. 

He wasn’t bitter about it. He actually enjoyed the challenge of leading the business. There was never a dull moment when your interests spanned every time zone imaginable, and he loved the charitable opportunities that came with his family’s wealth. He was free to pursue his own interests and career part time, as long as he dedicated enough of his day to the Agreste Corporation. As the heir and soon-to-be majority shareholder of the company, his input held the most weight. Adrien didn’t take that responsibility lightly, and after  the agreed upon two year gap to travel and teach, he was back and ready to fulfill the role.

That didn’t mean he had to like the smoke and mirrors performance that came with it. Publicity was important for success, but he remembered these galas well . Everyone was just playing the game. For years that game had been his life, his only socialization outside of his numerous tutors, but he’d finally gotten a taste of real life and was reluctant to go back to the charade most of them played. 

“ _ Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't _ ,” he murmured to himself as he started to fasten his cufflinks.

He used to be a model for the fashion brand, so he knew there would be more than a little scrutiny of his appearance tonight. When he’d left, he was still coming out of his gawky young-adult years. He was not looking forwards to the analysis of how he’d “turned out”. 

He had a sudden intense longing for the anonymity of the mongolian countryside, where he was either considered alien-looking for or just downright unattractive because of  his facial structure and the pure blonde color of his hair. Blonde children weren’t uncommon in the village where he lived, but to be an adult man as blonde as he was...well, it was almost humorous the pitying looks he’d received by fellow men in the community. He still smiled, remembering the first compliment he received there: a little girl telling him with a smile that she didn’t think he was “that ugly”.

“Ready, boss?” Adrien turned at the sound of Plagg’s voice as the older man peeked through the door to his room. He’d been working with Plagg to prepare to take over his father’s position for over a year now, but only just met the man in person when he got back last month. He honestly didn’t know what he’d do without him. While annoying and sarcastic at times, Plagg was always honest with Adrien and never coddled him. They respected each other for their own merits, and Plagg had quickly become a friend and confidant, helping Adrien navigate the business in ways his father had never thought--or cared enough--to teach him.

“Don’t call me boss,” Adrien retorted automatically, knowing how Plagg did it just to get a rise out of him.

“Okay. Ready, peasant?” Plagg tried instead, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. Adrien rolled his eyes, but was smiling himself as he shrugged on his jacket. 

He followed Plagg out the door towards the car. Plagg briefed him along the way about  developments in the stocks and merchandise performance that had changed since last the spoke. Then he moved onto the gala guests, informing him of designers or investors who had requested to meet with him. Adrien didn’t mind the designers, and in fact heard more than a few friendly names on Plagg’s list, but he cringed thinking about having to suffer through small talk with people who gave his business money and therefore thought the had a right to his time.

“Just grin and bear it, kid,” Plagg’s voice caught his attention again, the man correctly guessing the train of his thoughts. “I’ll get you through those people as quickly as possible. Just try not to offend anyone in the meantime, alright?”

“So...do the opposite of what you would do.”

“Exactly!” Plagg grinned at him. “See? I knew you’d beat the stereotype of a dumb blonde. I mean, at first I wasn’t  _ positive… _ ”

“Alright, alright. Shut up already, would you?” Adrien gave the smirking man some side eye, before the chauffeur came around to open his door and he stepped out on the to red carpet. He made sure to thank the driver before descending into the lion's den.

It wasn’t pleasant, but by the end of the barrage of cameras and questions, he was pleased to see all his training and conditioning hadn’t completely evaporated in the years he was away. Breathing a sigh of relief, he walked through the lobby towards the entrance of the main room, stopping at the top landing to take in the extravagance below him with a mixture of awe and sadness. Then he turned to the attendant at the door, handing over his coat and giving his “stage name” for the night to be announced before heading down the elaborate staircase into the ballroom. Thankfully, he was one of the first to arrive and while a few looked up as he entered, no one tried to monopolize his attention as he made a bee-line for the bar.

“What can I get you, my man?” The bartender came over to him immediately and Adrien liked him instantly. He was wearing the mandatory black tuxedo pants and white jacket of all the servers, but he’d added a red paisley pocket square and was sporting thick-rim, royal blue glasses. They were clearly perscription and necessary, but Adrien could just imagine the look of horror on the manager’s face when he had realized his hired bartender for the night completely clashed with the theme of the gala. 

“Scotch on the rocks.”

“Preference?” Adrien scanned the shelf and found what he was looking for.

“Laphroaig.”

The bartender nodded, pouring him a double without even asking.

“I love you,” Adrien whispered, looking intently into his eyes. The man stopped in his tracks, turned and leaned towards him.

“You don’t even know me,” he whispered back with a gasp in his voice, his cheek twitching as he tried not to smile.

“Agreste. Adrien Agreste.” Adrien held out his hand and the bartender smiled.

“Nice to meet you, James Bond. Name’s Nino,” he reached over, curling Adrien’s outstretched hand into a fist and fist-bumping him instead. “But the wedding will have to wait, I’m on duty tonight.” 

Adrien followed his gaze, realizing that the ballroom had filled around them, most of the guests arriving and settling at their tables. A few started to straggle towards the bar. 

“Just promise to remember me fondly,” Adrien sighed dramatically and looked back at Nino who smirked.

“I’ll keep ‘em coming, man,” he nodded in understanding, before moving to help the onslaught of guests that had descended at the bar. 

No one had seemed to notice him yet, so Adrien took advantage of the moment. Donning his mask for the evening to keep up appearances, he sat at the bar, slowly sipping his drink and watching people arrive. The men all looked well put-together in their coat tails and victorian ties, but they paled in comparison to the women. Hoop skirt after hoop skirt descended precariously down the stairs, each one more elaborate than the next. It was so lavish and over the top, the costumes started to blend into one another.

Until they didn’t.

Until he saw her.


	2. Chapter 2

Marinette wasn’t hyperventilating. She’d done much scarier things before and there was no logical reason she should be terrified to walk into a room full of fashion’s most successful designers and visionaries. No reason whatsoever. Tonight was supposed to be fun; a chance to meet people, maybe make some valuable connections, but mainly to get her name out there. That was all. She could do this.

She repeated these things to herself during the short walk from the nearest metro stop to the hotel entrance.

She repeated it to herself as she walked up to security and showed them her invitation, watching with anxious pleasure as the disdain on their faces transformed into surprise. Yes, she _was_ meant to be here.

She repeated the affirmations down the red carpet, breathing more easily as the swarm of reporters steadfastly ignored her.

Until one didn’t.

She was nearing the end of the red carpet and most of the photographers and reporters had turned away, conferring on shots already taken or craning their necks to see who would turn up next. Marinette was secretly relieved. As much as she knew the publicity would be good for her soon to be open shop, she was grateful she didn’t have to risk making a fool of herself so early in the evening.

“Excuse me! Excuse me, Miss Dupain-Cheng?”

Marinette spun, thankful she’d designed her ensemble to be as least restrictive as possible and had elected to wear a chunky heel for stability.

She looked and found the source of the call, a woman about her age sporting red cat-eye glasses with her naturally curly hair pulled up into a bun. Loose tendrils of it escaping to fall down and frame her face while others laid on her neck, her updo accentuated her off the shoulder top tucked into a classic black pencil skirt. She wore sensible but high quality pointed flats to tie the look together. Marinette had never met her before, but despite the understated outfit in comparison to some of the other reporters, she knew instantly that this woman had a true eye for fashion.

“Miss Dupain-Chang?” She asked again and Marinette tried to compose herself in what she hoped was a professional manner as she took a step towards the woman with a smile.

“That’s me!” She squeaked before clearing her throat. “I mean, yes. Hello…”

“Alya Cesaire,” the woman filled in, looking amused but speaking with an ease and comfort Marinette envied. “The Lady’s Blog.”

“Oh!” Marinette smiled genuinely now. She knew that blog. It had been started by a university student in Paris, but now had ambassadors at a few schools throughout Europe that wrote about up and coming designers. It was still small, and probably not on the radar of many fashion companies, but Marinette had followed it religiously, in awe at the young designers featured. Her school had just started being covered last year, of course right after she left, but a friend who was one of the writers recently wrote a piece on her other friend Juleka who specialized in shoe engineering and design.  “I know your blog! It’s really great. My shoes are actually a Juleka Couffaine!”

Marinette pointed her leg to show off the suede t-strap pump proudly and she watched Alya’s face light up in a genuine smile of her own.

“Oh! You read Rose’s piece?”

“Of course! I actually went to lycee with both of them! Rose has always been such a talented writer.”

“You _know_ her? Rose has been holding out on me! I’m suffering from the plight of a homeschooler, but I need my writers to flaunt those lycee connections!” She laughed putting Marinette even further at ease

“Yeah! I was excited to hear she’d started writing for you. I wish you guys had been on my campus while I was there. Our fashion department is really so talented. Juleka especially, though I’ve known her for over a decade, so maybe I’m biased,” Marinette laughed, relaxing into what felt like a conversation with an old friend and not some reporter.

“But what about you?” Alya’s face turned perplexed. “I’m disappointed I found an ambassador there the year after _you_ graduated. Winner of the European Design Project competition and owner of your own small business since the age of nineteen? Now you’re here, rubbing shoulders with the creme de la creme of fashion’s elites! And yet, here you are, talking up Rose’s writing and Juleka’s shoes.” Alya cocked her head, giving Marinette a peculiar look. Marinette felt a bit taken aback, but stood her ground.

“I am fortunate enough to be surrounded by talent and inspiration. My friends have been my constant support throughout my education and beyond into the competition. I wouldn’t be half the designer I am without them.”

Then Alya smiled at her, and Marinette felt like she passed a test she didn’t know she was taking.

“Then you’re lucky to have them. And them you,” Alya winked at her and Marinette felt her posture relax. “But tonight is about you! Now if your _friends_ were here, what would they say about this phenomenal gown I’m assuming you made?”

Marinette laughed, this reporter seeming to know exactly how the challenge her and comfort her at the same time, bringing out her most confident nature and taking her away from her nerves of the evening.

“Yes, this is a M. Dupain-Cheng original and I actually got the idea from my mentor.”

“Ah yes, the enigmatic Tikki: legendary designer, like Madonna or Adele, she need only one name,” Alya relayed dramatically nodding her head and Marinette laughed again.

“Exactly,” Marinette smiled while fluffing the skirt of her outfit. “Well, we both agreed I lacked the...grace of a victorian-era Cinerella,” she looked at Alya with a playful grimace anc leaned in conspiratorially. “Trust me, add a hoop skirt and you can practically ensure I am not coming out of the evening unscathed.”

“So?” Alya looked at her full skirt, clearly not believing that she’d managed to avoid the full ballgown altogether.

“So, I compromised. I may look like Cinderella, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be Prince Charming too.” Marinette looked both ways before lifting her skirt a bit and flashing Alya a peek of her pants below.

Alya’s jaw dropped, a grin forming on her lips.

“You are one to watch, Miss Dupain-Cheng.”

“Please, call me Marinette.”

Alya smiled.

“What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall in that room. You’re going to knock ‘em dead.”

“Here’s hoping!” Marinette laughed nervously, some anxiety returning as she watched Alya’s shock at her outfit. Woman after woman in burdensome hoop skirts had passed her, and here she was flouting all convention. She was confident in her design and wanted to make a splash, but that didn’t sit well with her hatred of being the center of attention.

“Hey,” Alya reached out and touched her arm bringing Marinette’s quickly spiraling attention back to her. “You’re going to do great. I’ve only seen half, and even I can tell that this design is pure fire.”

“Thanks, I’m just...well, I’m more of a behind the scenes designer. I’m no model.”

“You’re doing a hell of a job so far! But here, give me your mask.” Alya held out her hand and Marinette carefully untied the mask from her face and handed it over. It was a simple black mask, delicate in it’s lace pattern, that covered her face from browline to cheekbone. She hadn’t had time to design one more elaborate and didn’t want anything more ornate to detract from her dress. It probably needed more, but any embellishment Marinette tried had been too much.

“There. For good luck!” Alya handed the mask back to her and Marinette couldn’t help but smile. Attached to the top right corner was an enamel ladybug: a hair clip. It was small and understated but added the whimsical edge Marinette had been looking for and perfectly matched the red, white and black theme of her dress.

“Thank you,” Marinette looked back up at Alya. “It’s perfect, but I don’t want to take your clip.”

“You’re not. I can come get it tomorrow. Say, when I stop by your new storefront to do a profile? How does breakfast sound?” Alya smirked at Marinette and she had to commend Alya’s research—not many knew about her storefront yet— and cleverness. It was a game of chess that the reporter had orchestrated completely to her advantage, and yet, Marinette didn’t feel at all like she’d lost.

“Done,” Marinette smiled and stuck out her hand to strike the deal. Alya shook it with a smile before making a shooing motion.

“Now off you go, charming! That clip turns into a pumpkin tomorrow at dawn, so use it well and make your girl proud!” Alya blew her a kiss and winked before turning to call to another passerby.

Marinette smiled as she turned and walked forward towards the landing into the ballroom. As she reattached her mask, the cool metal of the clip pressed into her temple seemed calm her, as if she was borrowing Alya’s confidence for the night. With a deep breath, she stepped into line, and before she knew it, she was up next. The heralder turned to her and she scrambled for a name. Although she doubted many of the attendees would go unrecognized, it was a masquerade and the point was to play anonymous for the evening.

“Ladybug,” she whispered in a stroke of genius and the man smiled gently at her before announcing her name.

She stepped onto the landing, eyes from the ballroom turning in curiosity as her peculiar name resounded through the room. No doubt most people had gone with actual names instead of insects, but oh well. She was looking out at the room when a flash went off, the photographer taking her official picture to be included in the lookbook of designs from the evening.

“Oh! Actually, this is just my coat,” she gave the photographer a sheepish smile and the woman tried not to look annoyed at the disrupted flow of guests. Then Marinette started to unbutton her overcoat, and the room seemed to grow silent, the only motion from the few dancing couples, oblivious and lost in the music.  With a flourish, she shrugged out of the coat, letting the billowing skirts fall away as she stripped the garment and handed it to the coat attendant.The room was oppressively silent now, but she held her head high, safe behind her mask and feeling somehow infused with confidence, as if the ladybug pin had some miraculous powers. She didn’t question it.

The photographer was smiling now and she took another photo before motioning for Marinette to continue. She’d managed to make it down to the first landing without incident and was praising Juleka’s heel construction, when she noticed a man moving towards her through the crowd, the candlelight flickering off his golden hair. She took a few more steps and made it to the bottom where he was waiting for her, emerald eyes framed in a black masquerade mask shaped to resemble a cat.

People still stared, but she was looking at him.

“Would you…” he held out his hand, and she placed hers in his immediately.

“Yes,” she breathed and they walked wordlessly to the dance floor, oblivious to the eyes following.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry the update was later than usual (I was visiting the marvelous Mari_poppins for the weekend, blame her), but there will be TWO parts coming your way today! Stay tuned for part 3 later today! :)


	3. Chapter 3

He didn’t know how long he’d been staring before he heard Nino’s whistle sound next to him.

“Dude, you alright there?” Adrien looked over to see the man trying and failing to hide his smirk. Adrien just looked back to the woman standing at the top of the steps, at a loss for words. He’d hadn’t heard her chosen name for the evening over the din of the bar, but noticed when the room quieted. His eyes gravitated towards her automatically and his jaw dropped so fast he wasn’t confident it hadn’t disconnected from his skull.

She seemed jolted as the first flash went off, clearly not used to the official photographer of his father’s parties, but after a few words and quick smile at the photographer, he watched enraptured as she started to unbutton what he thought was her costume but was in fact just an over coat. That in itself was a masterpiece. A luminescent burgundy material was structured into a  corseted top that spread up to a high collar and down both her arms, tight just to the elbow. Fabric-covered buttons dotted the way down her chest before ending at a drop waist where the coat ballooned in layers of the same fabric, embroidered meticulously along the edges and allowing a brocade fabric--a rose gold over midnight--to peek through. With ease, she unsnapped the top, twirling it off her in a flutter of fabric and handing it to the attendant with a smile. Always with a smile.

She posed for her photo, more composed now, and Adrien realized the coat was only the beginning. He was mesmerized even more by the design underneath.

It mimicked the Victorian style of the evening, but there was nothing traditional about it. The ruby red neckline scooped lowly over her neck, the clean lines coming to rest just at the point of both her shoulders and hugging her biceps before flaring out in a cloud of black lace. The bodice tapered at her waist, the red fabric coming to a double point with an inlay of white in between. Pewter buttons laid in two rows along her abdomen finishing the illusion of a man’s short overcoat from the period. That was where any tradition stopped. Instead of the hoop skirt of every woman around her or coattails that would match the men and the theme of her bodice, her design elected to combine feminine and masculine fashion of the time. The rubescent fabric of her top bustled at the small of her back, giving the illusion of a full skirt, before falling to just skim the floor behind her. This mock-skirt only extended to her hipbone on each side, instead leaving the majority of the front open to showcase impeccably tapered tuxedo pants with a slender white stripe along the outer seam and t-strap pointed pumps.

It was a bold twist of the night’s theme, and the whole room took notice. Adrien felt like applauding her. It was beautiful and ingenious and the woman wearing it was just as much a work of art as the outfit itself.

He watched her start to descend the stairs and walked away from the bar without a further word to Nino. She held her head high, but her eyes darted around the room and her hand held onto the railing for dear life. She was a masterpiece clearly unused to appreciation, and Adrien was inexplicably drawn to her.

Then she met his gaze, and he was instantly at the bottom of the stairs, mesmerized by the way her eyes seemed to hold the dust of the stars captive in their depths. He could still hear the deafening silence in the room, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Would you…” he held out his hand when she finally was on the last step, and she placed hers in his immediately.

“Yes,” she breathed. He gripped her hand, placing it in the crook of his arm as he escorted her without another word towards the dance floor. He could still feel eyes on them, but the silence had been replaced by a murmur as the orchestra played a new song and he took her into his arms and started twirling.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he hedged after a moment.

“M--Ladybug,” she stumbled over her secret identity for the evening.

“Ah,” he reached up and brushed a finger over the small insect on her mask. “Well,  enchanté, m’lady.”

She smirked up at him then, but he felt her relax into his embrace a bit.

“And you are, kind sir?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

He honestly hadn’t given the announcer any name, used to being known regardless of how he tried to hide at these parties, but he couldn’t help but smile at her, wanting desperately to indulge in the anonymity she offered if only for a while.

“Chat Noir, at your service.” He tipped his head slightly and felt her giggle.

“Of course. How silly of me,” she reached up and flicked the whiskers on his mask and he felt his grin grow as he spun her before pulling her back into his arms.

“Thank you,” she remarked, her voice scarcely louder than a whisper. “I guess you’re my _cat_ in shining armor?”

She looked up at him, only a hint of vulnerability shining in her sapphire eyes and he felt himself melt a bit.

“You were fine,” he assured her.

“I know... that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the help. I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she leaned in further to him in a surreptitious manner and Adrien felt his heart beat faster. “But I’m not from around here.”

He chuckled then, adjusting his arms to hold her closer.

“Thank god for that,” he whispered in her ear and she leaned back with a smirk on her face.

“Oh? Been to one too many fancy parties have we?” Her eyes had a teasing light but Adrien answered seriously.

“Actually, yes. They can be fun with the right guests,” he paused to wink at her and thrilled when she rolled her eyes in response. “But honestly, the company does it in excess. It seems wasteful when the money could be going elsewhere. AC could fund its own foundation with the money spent on tonight’s gala alone.”

“But,” she challenged. “Nights like tonight draw in investors. People who are not only investing money in the company, but who are sponsoring young designers whose success the company relies on. So, yes, this is over the top and probably too much, and doing it more than once a year is wasteful, but it has its purpose. Unfortunately, not everyone is like us bleeding hearts. They need a little bedazzling with their charitable giving.”

Adrien laughed, relishing in the easy camaraderie she offered.

“I’m just imagining any of them wearing something bedazzled,” he grinned down at her and she giggled.

“Okay, okay. Not bedazzled. How about...encrusted in swarovski crystals?”

Adrien nodded seriously.

“Much more believable,” he let a smile peek through as he spun them seamlessly into the next dance.

“You seem to care a lot about the company,” she remarked after a few moments.

“Well, I should. I’m--”

“No!,” she cut him off placing the tips of her fingers against his mouth. They both froze for a moment and Adrien was mesmerized by the contrast of his soft lips against her callused fingers.

“Um, sorry,” she squeaked, pulling her hand away suddenly and his lips felt frigid for their absence. “It’s just, no details. You know, masquerade ball and all,” she laughed nervously and he frowned.

“You’ll find out tomorrow in the picture release. In fact, I think you’re the only one in this room who no one has already guessed.” He glanced around and could name all the couples dancing around them, but looking back at his own partner, he came up blank. As drawn as he was to her, he knew for a fact he’d never seen those eyes before in his life. He’d remember.

“Oh?” she looked up at him, a pleased smile on her face. “You’ll all just have to wait and see, then.”

“What if I guess?” He played along and a mischievous grin came to her face.

“I’d like to see you try, Kitty.”

He felt his smiled widen to match hers.

Challenge accepted.


	4. Chapter 4

It was unnatural, really, how soft his lips were. The perfect pout women would kill for, and yet here it was right beneath her fingertips. She had to fight the urge to trace his mouth as it parted ever so slightly under her touch...his cupid’s bow perfectly symmetrical under her middle and pointer fingers…

She yanked her hand away quickly, as if she had been burned and watched him immediately purse his lips, as if to save the essence of her touch between them. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks and was grateful for the cover of her mask for not the first time that night.

“Um, sorry,” her voice came out strained and higher pitched than it had been in years. “It’s just, no details. You know, masquerade ball and all,” she laughed in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner, but let’s face it: she wasn’t a nonchalant person. He frowned, his slightly narrowed eyes the only evidence behind his mask of his confused expression.

“You’ll find out tomorrow in the picture release. In fact, I think you’re the only one in this room who no one has already guessed.” She watched as he looked around them, his gaze resting on the dancers and eyes lighting up with recognition each time. She recognized them too, designers she’d admired for years and the people who made their careers financially possible. She was keenly aware of the whirlpool of  talent and wealth in which she was currently swirling.

She was--by their standards--a nobody, but she’d seen the way they looked at her design. She could only hope that the person currently modeling it flew under the radar enough for the design to speak for itself. To make a splash, as it were.

Her partner looked back at her then and his eyes lit up in a very different way. They didn’t know each other, that was certain, but he didn’t feel like a stranger.  

“Oh?” she allowed the pleased smile to grace her face as he seemed to search her eyes for answers. “You’ll all just have to wait and see, then.”

“What if I guess?” He responded immediately and she smiled as he played along.

“I’d like to see you try, Kitty.”

The nickname came easily to her lips and she watched him grin in return, wondering if with her offhanded comment she’d just created a monster. She didn’t really care as long as he kept looking at her like that.

“What do you have so far?” She quirked and eyebrow at him and watched as his face morphed into mock-exasperation at her question.

“Ugh, Bugaboo. I just started. Give me a second.” He rolled his eyes dramatically and she laughed, though she was sure her face was on fire again. _Bugaboo_. She may have fed the fire, but If he kept letting these nicknames roll off his tongue like endearments ages old, she’d be a puddle on the floor before the end of the night.

“So disappointing. I expected more of the great _mouse_ detective,” she reached up and flicked one of the points at the top of his mask meant to look like cat ears.

“Oh? Well by all means,” he spun her away from him then before pulling her back into the curl of his arms. Her back pressed firmly against his chest and she felt him lean down, his breath on her neck and lips grazing her ear. “Please show me how it’s done,” he whispered low in her ear and it was all Marinette could do to keep her balance as he spun her out and back into his arms again.

She looked up, hoping her face wasn’t the color of her jacket, and answered him.

“Alright, chaton,” she declared, throwing caution to the wind. It seemed like puddle-Marinette was an inevitability at this point and she wasn’t going to let him be the only one who got to throw around nicknames. “Let’s see. You’ve been to a lot of these, but you’re young…”

“Thank you for noticing,” he grinned down at her but she wasn’t distracted...much.

“So you’ve most likely grown up in this life. Parent or parents are designers? Hmm...more likely investors.”

“How did you know that?” he cocked his head at her, and she shrugged.

“A hunch, which you just confirmed,” she smiled up at him and he winced but smiled sheepishly. “You talk about the business from an economic standpoint; how the money can better be utilized instead of just complaining about it’s overuse in general. It makes me think you have a financial stake in it. And the emphasis on charitable giving? You’re probably a good person, but it indicates that you’re also _emotionally_ connected to the company. So either you work for the business now, or…” she pursed her lips in concentration. “Maybe you’re a friend of the Agrestes?”

She smiled up at him and watched as his jaw dropped, confirming that she hit the nail on the head.

“How’d I do?” She laughed as he just shook his head in disbelief.

“I have no idea what just happened,” he admitted, but he was grinning down at her. “Do you have any other superpowers I should know about? Mind-reading, check. But can you fly? Create objects out of thin air? What else do you have up your sleeve?”

“Not mind-reading, just guessing,” she assured him.

“I blame myself,” he looked up towards the ceiling and shook his head some more. “I asked for it.”

“Yes,” she laughed. “Yes you did, but I admittedly had practice. My Papa and I used to sit in the park and make up stories for everyone who walked by. They started off being ridiculous, but after a while, I got really good at it. People say a lot without even opening their mouths, and when you’re the quietest one in the room, people forget you’re there and it’s easy to hear what they’re _not_ saying.”

“I don’t believe it,” he lifted his chin and straightened their posture as the music turned into a more formal waltz, but still met her eyes.

“What?” She replied indignantly, hearing his contradictory statement, but he looked down at her softly.

“That anyone could forget you were in the room,” his eyes seemed to bore into hers and she felt herself melt back into his arms.

“Believe it,” she managed to gasp out. He continued to waltz them around the room, coming closer and closer with every turn and she lost track of time and space watching the distance between them decrease.Their faces were inches apart before he spoke again.

“I met you ten minutes ago, and yet you enchant me,” he looked at her in amazement and she moved to close the gap between them when a hand curled over his shoulder and his posture bolted upright again.

“You’ve monopolized our guest’s time quite enough,” the voice was joking but left no room for argument. “May I cut in?”

Marinette blinked through her daze and focused on the man’s face. She had to stifle her gasp. Beneath a mask that covered only the right portion of his face was none other than tonight’s host, Gabriel Agreste.

“Of course,” her Chat Noir responded in a even tone with a polite nod of his head, but Marinette could tell that his smile was strained, and it went past being as annoyed as she was to be separated. If her assumptions were correct earlier, then they definitely knew each other. Apparently the relationship wasn’t warm.

Still, she looked back to Monsieur Agreste and realized _this_ was why she was here. To make connections. So she plastered on a smile, catching Chat Noir’s eye quickly and giving him a wink before responding to Monsieur Agreste’s bow with a curtsy and taking his hand. Dancing with him didn’t hold to same appeal as her Kitty, but there was no denying he was skilled.

“Your outfit, mademoiselle, is stunning,” Gabriel remarked. “Not entirely on tonight’s theme, but exquisitely made. You clearly know a skilled seamstress.”

Marinette met his eyes, hearing the challenge in his tone.

“It’s inspired by the theme. Surely a man of refined knowledge such as yourself can see the equal influence of mens and womens’ formal wear of the time,” she stared at him. “And I’ll tell the _designer_ you appreciate her work.”

She emphasized her title and watched as a smile flitted across Gabriel’s face.

“Your designer sounds like an interesting woman. Would I know her?”

“She’s young, and relatively new, but she is confident in her work and meticulous in her construction,” Marinette allowed him to spin her as they danced the final steps of the song.

“I’m sure she will be something to behold,” he bent over her hand as the song finished. “If the last three quarters of an hour are any indication, my son already seems quite the fan.” He glanced over at Chat Noir before looking back at her with a knowing smile.

Then, bidding her goodnight, he melted back into the crowd and left Marinette standing shocked on the dance floor. Gabriel’s words slowly sank in and her mind started to realize who she’d been dancing with and for how long. It hadn’t seemed like nearly and hour, and it hadn’t seemed _nearly_ long enough, but how could she have been so blind?

“Oh. my. God,” she had just enough time to whisper to herself before another man, who she recognized as Jean Luc Valois--a designer recently signed to AC... _his_ company--requested a dance. She managed to accept with minimal stuttering.

For the rest of the night, her dance card was never empty. She managed to pull herself together enough to exchange small talk and pleasantries with the people she danced with and the colleagues they introduced her to afterward. She was pleased by the reception of her design, and ended the night with more than a few business cards with requests to attend the grand opening of her shop.

As much as she was dazed and bewildered by the support of her fellow designers, she still sought him out. She should probably keep her distance, knowing now who he was and not wanting to be seen as using him for his connections, but she couldn’t do that. It may be the smarter choice, and she could almost resolve herself to it, but then she’d catch his eye and couldn’t deny the fire in them that mirrored her own.

They seemed to circle each other the rest of the night. So close, but so far...Across the room separated by the crowd...on the dance floor spinning past each other in the wrong person’s arms...

By the end of the night, she’d given up hope of one more dance. The crowd had thinned considerably, many of the older guests having gone home for the evening, leaving only the rowdier--and by now, drunker--designers. Managing to pull herself away from a particularly loud group, she walked over to the bar, tripping over a woman’s discarded heels and literally falling onto the barstool.

“Woah, there,” the bartender reached out as if to steady her. “You alright?” He looked at her, concern veiling amusement and magnified through his thick glasses. She looked at him sarcastically and lifted one leg in the air, displaying for him the strappy sandal that had managed to tangle itself around the heel of her shoe. He chuckled as she put her foot on the stool next to her to dislodge it and tossed it back where it came from. She looked down at her own heel in newfound admiration. Juleka really deserved some outrageously prestigious award for their creation. Three hours in four inch heels and Marinette’s feet hurt only as much as if she’d been dancing that long in flats. That woman would soon be a blessing to heel-wearers everywhere.

“What can I get you, miss?” The bartender smiled at her and she smiled back despite his sarcasm, beyond relieved to see a friendly face.

“Ha ha, very funny,” she reached over and pushed his glasses back up his nose. “You know my order, Nino.”

“Do I?” he questioned, but was already reaching to make her rum and coke.

“After twenty years, I’d hope so.”

“Twenty years, huh? And here I was being ignored all night,” he shrugged, pausing in his pouring to look at her dramatically. “I could have sworn we were strangers.”

She gave him a narrowed-eyed look of exasperation, but he smirked.

“Then again,” he set her drink in front of her, tossing in a squeeze of lime. “You did seem...distracted.”

She felt her face light up in a blush and Nino threw his head back and laughed. She took her lime and threw it at him, pleased when it left a stain on his otherwise immaculate white shirt.

“Watch it, floozy, or I’m cutting you off,” he warned and she just shrugged.

“Then I’ll cut off your bakery priveledges.”

He looked up immediately at her retort.

“You fight dirty, kid. Tom would never do that to me,” he held a hand over his heart in pain, and Marinette just rolled her eyes. He was right. Her father wouldn’t cut Nino off. He’d practically lived in the bakery while they were in school, even more so than the rest of their friends, to the point that he was basically her brother.

She sat, stirring her drink pensively, before Nino’s voice pulled her back to the presence.

“So,” he drawed and she looked up. “Tell me about lover boy.” He leaned over the counter, elbow on the bar and hand cupping his chin.

“He’s not--”

“Stop right there,” he held up a finger and cut her off. “You danced completely oblivious to the rest of the world in his arms _for almost an hour_ . The boy practically jumped off his seat the second you walked through those doors, and don’t try to tell me you didn’t grab his hand for dear life the second he offered it. I’ve been _right here_ , watching all the nauseating cuteness from my front row seat.”

“He jumped off his seat when he saw me?” Marinette asked, needing this clarification more than she could explain. Nino looked at her, deadpan.

“You’re so far down that rabbit hole it’s amazing I can still reach you. Yes, Mari,” he said emphatically and slowly. “Did you give him your number?”

“No,” she admitted, suddenly remembering why even as she gravitated towards him, she’d been uneasy. “He’s Adrien Agreste,” she admitted to Nino.

“Yeah?” He raised and eyebrow at her.

“The son of the guy footing the bill,” she elaborated, looking at Nino with wide eyes but not surprised that he had no idea who this shindig was for. He’d always supported her designing, but was blissfully unaware of the high and mighty in the fashion world. Want to talk music? DJ Lah was your guy. Want a patient listener? Nino was there. An analysis of emerging trends and up-and-coming fashion icons? Deer in the headlights.

“Oh,” was all he said back and she groaned, letting her head fall to the bar. “Probably not best for an up-and-coming designer to cozy up to the son and heir of the man-in-charge.”

“Gee, ya think?” She spun on the stool and leaned back onto the bar, her eyes scanning the small group of people still dancing and locking immediately on his. Her hand lifted to wave and he smiled a her. It was slow and crooked and made her heart constrict and expand simultaneously in a maddening contradiction. The woman next to him, a hold out of the older generation, touched his arm demanding his attention. She watched as his smile morphed into something polite, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It wasn’t the smile he’d reserved for her.

“God, you’ve got it bad.”

“Shut up,” she turned around and glared at Nino. “Ugh, I’m a mess.” She dropped her head back into her hands. “Why don’t you ever date someone so I’m not the only one who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing?”

“Well, funny you should mention that, ‘cause outside earlier I actually met someone--”

The buzzing of her phone interrupted them and Nino wiped a hand across his brow.

“Ah, saved by the buzz.”

“Hold that thought, mister. You’re not getting out of that comment so easy.”

She looked down and jumped off the seat.

“I need to leave,” she continued to look in shock at her phone.

“What? What is it?” All joking fled from Nino’s face as he reached towards her.

“The shop! The alarms are going off at the shop!” She was off and hustling towards the door immediately, her heart racing as she thought of all the designs, planned and in the making, that were sitting in her storefront.

“Do you want me to give him a message?” Nino called after her and she just gave him a thumbs up, hoping he would understand that meant _Yes, give him my number_ as she ran past the doorman and into the frosty Parisian night.


	5. Chapter 5

Adrien was in hell the entire night. He’d already been dreading tonight's events, but then just when it started to look up, she was taken from his arms and kept just out of reach. It was agony, but at the same time, it wasn’t.

He’d taken her up on her challenge, and was relatively sure now that she was a designer, or at least a model for a designer. She knew too much about the inner workings of the fashion world’s politics to be just another guest, and her self-proclaimed position as an outsider convinced him that she wasn’t from one of fashion’s “elite” families. The calluses he’d felt on her fingers had him leaning towards designer, but then she hadn’t spoken about her design once. He’d never met a designer who could resist bragging to him. Whatever she was, she was an enigma. He couldn’t puzzle her out, but he wanted to spend hours, days...years, trying. He smiled as he watched her converse easily with even the most ornery of his company’s investors and was blown away when she managed to bring a smile to his father’s economic advisor’s face. 

She was an impossible girl.

When the night was finally nearing its end, most of the investors had made their way home for the evening, leaving a decidedly younger crowd that had plans on the agenda that didn’t include schmoozing to the boss’s son. He was wrapping up what he hoped was the last of the small talk required of him for the night when he saw her, sitting at the bar, joking with Nino.  He watched them as she leaned over and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose in easy intimacy and felt his face burn. He was jealous, he realized in astonishment. He had no right to be, and yet he was. Then she turned and caught his eye, a delicate blush rising to her cheeks as she lifted a hand and waved.

He smiled instantly, feeling it slowly grow wider the longer she looked at him, before his attention was pulled elsewhere. By the time he finished, he turned and headed towards the bar, but she was gone. He spun, searching the room, but she was nowhere to be seen. Realizing his only option, he walked over to the bar.

“Hey man! You looking for M--err...Ladybird?” Nino looked at him with an amused expression.

“Ladybug?” He offered and Nino snapped, pointing to him in success.

“That was it! Ladybug! Leave it to sis to name herself after a bug for the night…”

“Sis?” That brought  Adrien up short. 

“Yeah, me and your girl go way back,” he leaned over and smirked at Adrien who was still dumbfounded.

“My...girl?”

“God you’re both so oblivious,” Nino murmured to himself. “Look she wanted me to get you a message. Her nu--”

“Lahiffe!” Nino’s boss called and Adrien watched Nino cringe. 

“Hey, sir, about--”

“Is that a stain on your shirt?” The man fumed, veins bulging in his head, and making him look more ridiculous than this conversation already did.

“Yeah, about that--”

“It was my fault, sir. I was squeezing a lemon and it slipped right out of my hand,” Adrien cut Nino off and watched as the man turned his anger on him only to have him freeze and change tactics abruptly. Adrien could practically hear his mind screeching as it came to an abrupt stop as he realized who he was about to yell at.

“M-- Monsieur . Agreste. Of--of course sir I--”

“Just don’t blame Nino,” he tried to shoot the man his winning smile, but it didn’t last long.

“Adrien,” Natalie called from behind him and now it was Adrien’s turn to cringe. He and Nino gave each other apologetic looks before turning to face their individual horrors. 

Nino turned to talk inventory with his boss while Adrien went to put out the social fire of an unhappy investor. By the time he finished, the bar was cleared and shut down.

Letting out a sigh of disappointment he turned and trudged out of the now empty ballroom, completely overlooking the napkin with with nine digits Nino had left him. 

He took the stairs slowly, making his way out into the lobby and into the cold night air.

That night, he lay in the loneliness of evening, praying that by some miracle that he’d find her. That she’d come back to him.

_ You’ll all have to wait and see _ , she’d said. So, as he slid into sleep, he took a deep breath and resigned himself to do just that.

 

~*~

 

The next morning, Adrien’s alarm blared at nine, but he was already awake and darting over to his computer. Tapping impatiently as he waited for it to boot up, he completely ignored Plagg as he strolled right in without knocking and plopped in a heap on his couch. Adrien absentmindedly registered the rustling of fabric, but ignored whatever fashion crisis Plagg brought with him. He was going to find her.

Once on, he frantically scrolled to the news release section. It was supposed to be posted exactly at nine and he sat refreshing the page until he saw it. 

The lookbook was up. 

He zoomed through picture after picture until he finally found her, near the end but with two pictures, a before and after shot. Then he looked to the description and came up short. There was nothing there. No bio, no witty quote, no invasive fun fact...Nothing. Not even a name.

“No!” he ran his fingers through his hair and pulled on the ends.

“Trouble in paradise?” Plagg quipped from the couch and Adrien groaned louder.

“There’s nothing. Nothing! I’m never going to find her, Plagg.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen, blondie. You’ll find her.”

“How can this even happen? I can read about Ms. Dubois’ new poodle Gigi and how she just  _ loves _ a cup of fresh milk in the morning, but I can’t even find Ladybug’s name? This is ridiculous! What kind of business are we running here?” Adrien pushed back from the chair and threw his hands up in aggravation, letting the chair spin lazily as he glared into space.

“A successful one that has better things to do than check an intern’s write up about one of our many social events?”

“You’re being unhelpful,” Adrien spat out.

“Well, you’re being annoying,” Plagg retorted with an indifference that simultaneously aggravated and calmed Adrien. He knew the man was right, loathe as he was to admit it.

“Look, kid, weren’t you telling me one of the reasons you loved Mongolia was because you earned the respect you had there? The community, friends and connections you made were what you created for yourself, and that made it so much sweeter.”

“Yeah?” Adrien stopped spinning and looked at the older man in confusion.

“You’ve gotta work for the best things in life, blondie. Did you think this would be easy? Are you telling me the girl isn’t one of those things?” Plagg raised an eyebrow at Adrien and he felt something click inside of him.

“You’re right!”

“Of course I am,” Plagg laid back on the couch. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

Adrien hesitated for a moment and then remembered Nino. He knew her. Nino was the key! He was employed by the hotel for the night, but it would be a simple manner of calling to request his information. He could say he wanted him to bartend at another Agreste function...

In an instant Adrien was up off his chair and getting dressed. He could do this over the phone, but he always had more success with people face-to-face for some reason. 

“Where are you going?” He heard Plagg’s muffled voice call to him as he slipped a sweater over his head.

“To the hotel. The bartender there knows her. Now I just need to find him, and then, hopefully, her.” Adrien was hoping towards his closet as he slipped on socks.

“Or you could just go to her directly,” Plagg offered and Adrien narrowed his eyes at the man who had a suspicious grin on his face.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” Plagg raised a hand to his chest. “Did I forget to mention I came bearing gifts?” Plagg continued to smile but his hand patted the spot next to him and Adrien’s eyes darted towards the sound of ruffling tulle and his heart stopped.

Her coat.

He walked over, taking it gingerly into his hands and flipped the collar hopefully. There it was.

_ M. Dupain-Cheng _ .

He tempered the smile on his face long enough to glare at his friend.

“You sat there and let me moan while you had this with you the entire time?”

“You need to learn to be more perceptive, besides, I just filled my pep-talk quota for the year. Win-win.”

Plagg shrugged, but Adrien shook his head.

“I think you need a refresher on the meaning of  _ win-win _ ,” he muttered, turning around and heading for his computer. Then he paused, praying the designer had a website and storefront. A quick google search confirmed the former but not the latter.

“Shit.”

“Yeah, no storefront listed yet,” Plagg came to sit on his desk and look down at him, all the while twirling a folded piece of paper in his hand. “I mean  _ technically _ it’s not open yet, but…”

“Plagg…”

“I have my ways,” Plagg grinned and held out the piece of paper to Adrien. He unfolded it, feeling a smile spread across his face. “Go get your girl.”

“Thank you!” Adrien exclaimed, forgetting for a moment how infuriating his friend was and kissing the man on both cheeks in his excitement  before racing out into his car. Plagg was right on his heels.

He handed the slip to the driver and tried to sit patiently as he clutched the coat to his chest. He suspected she was the designer, but even if she wasn’t, this was a start. He had to be close...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I mislabeled my chapters and turns out this is actually 7 parts. Whoops!

Marinette woke up before dawn and tried to stretch the stiffness out of her muscles. It wasn’t the first time she’d slept on the cot in the back of the shop--and it wouldn’t be the last--but it was never a good substitute for her actual bed. Add in the drama of last night, and she could hardly expect to feel rested this morning. Luckily, the shop was being converted from a walk-up apartment and she’d decided to leave the shower in the bathroom at the back; so, while she didn’t have a bed, she did have some comforts of home.

Turning on the shower, she stepped in before the water had a chance to heat up, letting the cold shock her system as she washed away the fear of the night before. Nothing could prepare you for coming home and seeing what you’d sank your life’s savings into surrounded by the flashing lights of police cars. Thankfully, the elaborate security system her friend Max insisted on installing himself did its job and then some. She arrived just in time to see the police ducking the two would-be-thieves into the back of a police car. Nothing had been taken--not that there was much of pawn-able value in the shop anyway--but Marinette couldn’t shake how violating it was to know someone had been in her space without her knowledge or permission. After an hour of filing reports and fixing the broken locks on the front door, she pulled out her cot and tried to sleep. She refused to be afraid to be alone in her shop. This was her  _ home _ and she would prove it to herself.

Luckily, she had happier memories of the night to focus on and chase away the shadows. 

_ Chat Noir...or, Adrien. _ She smiled. He’d been magical. She could still picture the way his black suit clung perfectly to his frame.The short vest mimicking the V of his torso immaculately..the long tail of his suit jacket floating down his back and twirling as the spun like it had a mind of its own...The elegant lines of his legs...the broad plane of his chest...the way his sage victorian bow tie mirrored his gemstone eyes…Then she cringed, remembering how she’d left without a word.

The steam in the small bathroom had started to become suffocatingly thick and Marinette reached down and yanked the handle towards the cold, gasping as the shock of water hit her anew. She needed to get a hold of herself. She may never see him again, and she couldn’t get her hopes up. When he found out who she really was...well, she hoped she hadn’t read him so wrong that he would assume she was only interested in his connections, but she also couldn’t ignore that possibility. As it was, she wasn’t exactly in a position to pursue him. She just had to hope Nino had given Adrien her number and leave the rest up to fate.

Emerging from the shower, she dried off quickly in the cold morning air of winter and slipped on a pair of leggings, a thermal shirt and a large waterfall sweater she’d knitted for her mother last Christmas but ended up usually stealing for herself.  Her mother didn’t mind.  _ It’s always warm in the bakery _ , she would say.  _ The true gift to me is knowing you’re not out catching your death in that cold shop _ .

Marinette smiled thinking of her parents as she moved to start the coffee brewing. She could really go for some of Papa’s croissants this morning…

A knock on the door brought her up short and Marinette’s heart started to hammer in her chest. She peeked around the doorway and let out a sigh of relief as she spotted a familiar shock of curls and red cat-eye glasses. Alya stood in the doorway, her blanket scarf wrapped tightly around her shoulders and the bottom half of her face as she hopped back and forth from foot to foot and waved frantically for Marinette to open the door.

She shuffled across the empty storefront and quickly disarmed the security system, unlocked the numerous chains and deadbolts and lifted the security gate. Alya hustled in and gave her a perplexed look.

“Enough security?”

“Apparently not. I had a break-in last night,” Marinette sighed, locking only the main bolt this time and waving for Alya to follow her.

“Oh my gosh, are you alright?” She felt Alya’s hand on her shoulder and smiled back at her new friend.

“Just a little shaken. I’m better now, and they caught the guys,” Marinette shrugged. “Nothing a hot cup of coffee can’t fix.”

Alya still looked concerned, but held up a bag in offering.

“I’ll raise your coffee and give you some mind-blowing croissants.”

Marinette’s jaw dropped in shock as she took in the paper bag with the Dupain Bakery logo.

“You’re my hero,” she gasped as Alya lowered the treasure into her outstretched arms. “You didn’t pay for these, did you?”

“Well, I  _ tried _ , but  _ please call me Tom _ and  _ honey, it’s Sabine _ heard I was off to meet and interview their famous daughter and would hear nothing of the sort.”

“That’s them,” Marinette snorted lovingly, digging into a pastry already and sighing in ecstasy. How she missed living over a bakery. Then she looked back at Alya.

“Coffee?”

“Am I alive?” Alya returned, her face serious and Marinette just nodded, moving to pour them two cups before they both walked back out to the main store space. She sat in her chair at the desk and offered Alya the second chair that she’d finally given in and bought along with other essential seating and lighting. She really was practically living here at this point. 

“So this is it!” Alya spun around, electing not to sit and instead taking in the sparse inventory and decor still in progress. Marinette had wanted the space to feel welcoming, but open. It was a small store to begin with, but it had relatively high ceilings with wood beams she’d left exposed. She’d painted the walls a mauve color on the sides and had the wall behind the counter a deep burgundy with her brand name written in white calligraphy. All the shelving and clothes racks were a mixture of natural and unpainted woods and the floor was laid with reclaimed wood in a chevron pattern. All the inventory was stored in a locked cabinet in the back right now, but she could just imagine it finished. The clothes would be the focal point, bringing vibrancy and texture to the room. 

It had taken a lot for the store to get to this point, and it still wasn’t much, but Marinette was immensely proud of it so far. 

“Yeah, this is it,” she looked over at Alya with a smile and leaned back to tie up her still-wet hair in a bun. She shook her fingers in the front a bit to dislodge her bangs before grabbing her coffee and moving around the space, too.

“Tell me about it,” Alya sat down now, studiously holding a notebook in her hand as she looked expectantly up at Marinette. 

“Well, the woodworking is all from my friend Ivan. He studies architecture, but is a carpenter by trade. He helped find me these beautiful reclaimed wood floors and we scoured flea markets and garage sales to find the eclectic collection of shelves and racks you see,” she ran a hand lovingly over the bamboo bookshelf she’d lined with a floral paper as the background. “Then the security system I mentioned is from my friend Max. He’s our resident whiz kid and I’d be technologically lost without him. This place is wired in ways you can’t even imagine and the thieves last night didn’t even stand a chance. So watch out!” She pointed to Alya with a laugh and then looked behind her at her brand logo. “And that might be my favorite part.”

Alya turned and looked up at the back wall. Smiling, she rolled her chair back and took a picture of the logo.

“My friend Nath designed it for me and drew the outline on the wall, but we all painted it. We all had a party and painted the whole store actually.” She spun around with her arms outstretched. “Pink’s my favorite color.”

She shrugged sheepishly at Alya, but turned when a jingle announced the opening of the door. As expected, it was Tikki popping by to check in. Marinette had texted her last night about the break in and briefly about Alya’s interview, but had told Tikki not to worry. Of course, she didn’t listen. She’d stopped by the night before and it took all of Marinette’s negotiating skills to get her to go home and sleep in her own bed, but of course she was back as early as possible. 

“You seem to have very loyal friends,” Alya remarked.

“She does,” Tikki responded, tucking her key to the store back in her pocket. “But this interview is about  _ you _ Marinette,” she chided her mentee with a smile before looking back at Alya who had a starstruck look on her face. “Has she shown you her designs yet, dear?”

“Uh..um..” Alya cleared her throat. “No, I mean, no she hasn’t.”

Marinette smiled at the two of them and linked her arm with Alya to drag the girl away and maybe get her breathing steadily again.

“C’mon, I’ll show you what I’ve been working on. And Tik? The pot of coffee is still hot!”

Tikki smiled her thanks and went for the caffeine as Marinette and Alya walked back towards her treasure trove of goodies. 

The front door to the shop jingled again, but she left Tikki to handle it. She’d come get her if she needed to.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to my US friends! And here's the final chapter, enjoy <3

Adrien sat in the car outside the store for ten minutes before Plagg physically kicked his ass out.  Then he sat against the car for another ten.

“Kid, stop being a wimp. It _might_ not even be her,” Plagg came to lean on the car next to him.

Adrien listened to his words and tried to take comfort in them, but a part of him knew. He knew she was in there...but what if last night was all in his head? What if she’d left without a word because she _didn’t_ want to see him again? Was he a stalker for trying to track her down?

Then he watched from across the street as a familiar face walked into the shop.

Nino.

If he was here...It had to be her. He mustered his courage and walked across the street.

 

~*~

 

Marinette was flipping through pieces with Alya in her large back cabinet, her pride soaring every time the woman gasped over another design, when she heard a familiar voice from the front. Tikki came around the to back, needlessly informing her of who had arrived before moving to gush with Alya over a cotton sundress she’d hand-dyed the other week. Leaving them to it, Marinette walked to the kitchen, grabbing another croissant and mug of coffee as she went.

Nino rounded the corner, his nose following the scent of her offerings and head whipping to hers as he took them greedily.

“Marry me,” he murmured, to her or the coffee, she wasn’t sure.

“Ew, no,” she replied for both of them, reaching up to ruffle his beanie while he stuck his tongue out at her.

“So,” he drawed after taking a fortifying sip of coffee. “Has lover boy called yet?”

Marinette froze.

“You mean, you got him my number?”

“I’ll take that as a no, then,” Nino looked deflated, like they were already his OTP and she was crushing his hopes and dreams. “I could have swore he would have…”

“Okay,” Alya’s voice echoed from the back and Marinette watched as Nino’s head snapped up at the sound. “I don’t know what witchcraft you perform here, but this is the most magical dress I’ve ever seen, and I need it.” Alya rounded the corner wearing one of Marinette’s creations. A midnight blue chiffon day dress with golden constellations sprinkled over it. Marinette had screen-printed the fabric herself before designing the long sleeved dress with cold-shoulders and a deep V in the back that cinched with a ribbon at the waist and fell in pleats to the knees. It fit Alya perfectly, accentuating every curve on her body and making her toffee skin luminescent.

“It’s yours. That dress was _made_ for you,” Marinette replied, turning to gauge Nino’s reaction and taking his open-mouthed wonder as success.

“Alya?” he choked out, and Marinette looked back at the reporter only to see his shock mirrored on her face.

“Ohmygod!” She put it together looking at the two of them. “This is the person you met last night?”

She watched as Nino shut his mouth and just nodded. Clasping her hands, she started to squeal at how perfect it was. She was a sucker for a meet-cute.

Then the bell over the door rung again, and she forced herself away from her friends to walk out from the back and into the main storefront. She couldn’t remember anything scheduled for today, but she had so many supplier appointments set up for this week, maybe something slipped her mind.

She turned her gaze towards the door, and froze as her eyes met his. She’d never seen his face in person before, but she knew him instantly, his emerald eyes captivating her even more in the light of day. He wore black jeans and a green sweater, a plaid scarf wrapped carelessly around his neck and carrying a bundle of fabric in his hands that she recognized as her coat from the night before.

He stared at her too, not saying a word and just drinking in the sight of her.

“You,” he breathed out, an impossibly wide smile stretching across his face as he took a step towards her. The bundle in his hand was too wide though, the tulle catching on the barren coatrack by the door. In a flurry of movement, the coat tangled, the coat rack tipped, and Adrien went down with it all, laying in a heap by the front door, the top half of his body engulfed by tulle.

She ran over immediately, kneeling next to him as his arms flailed in an attempt to push the tulle out of his face. She giggled despite herself and saw one green eye peer out at her in amusement.

“Well, M’Lady,” he said as he pushed the mass of fabric aside and propped himself up into a sitting position. “Look’s like I’ve fallen for you twice now.”

He grinned his crooked grin at her and she felt her heart start to beat out of her chest. She still didn’t know what to make of him, or how to comprehend the way he made her blush yet feel unstoppable at the same time. She laid a hand on his chest and leaned towards him, trying to think of a witty response, but coming up with nothing.

“What’s the matter,” he smirked at her. “Cat got your tong--”

Before he had a chance to finish, she leaned over and kissed him, effectively wiping that smug smirk right off his face. It started chaste, but she sighed in pleasure as his arms encircled her waist and pulled her closer, her hands moving to curl around his neck and thread through his hair. Breaking away, she leaned her forehead against his in an attempt to catch her breath.

“Yeah, chaton, he did,” she answered his unfinished question with a wink and grinned as a blush creeped across his cheeks.

Someone cleared their throat from behind her, and she turned to see her friends with bemused looks on their faces.

“Marinette, care to introduce us to your...guest?” Tikki asked, looking like a laugh may bubble over at any moment.

“Marinette,” Adrien murmured, looking into her eyes with such adoration it was her turn to blush. Then he grunted as the door was opened behind him, smacking him squarely in the back.

“Kid? While you make a very effective doorstop, I always had higher hopes for you.”

She watched as Adrien rolled his eyes fondly and moved to stand, offering her a hand and pulling her up with him. She looked at the gruff older man to introduce herself, but saw his attention was otherwise occupied.

“Tikki,” he gasped dramatically and Marinette’s eyes darted to her mentor’s, whose eyes rolled skyward, looking away and suppressing grin.

Then Plagg was pushing past them, gathering Tikki in a hug and twirling her in the air.

“Where have you been all my life?”

“Down the street, you oaf. Put me down,” she smacked lightly at his shoulder and rolled her eyes again.

“Wait, what is going on?” Marinette took a step forward, Adrien moving with her instinctively. Plagg looked at her.

“So this is your kid,” he stated, looking at Marinette but addressing Tikki.  Her mentor nodded, looking at her fondly before nodding towards Adrien.

“He’s yours?”

“On his good days,” Plagg responded with a shrug.

“Hey!” Adrien protested in a confused manner, but he moved to wrap an arm around Marinette’s waist, and she leaned into him with a bizarre sense of familiarity.

“Ooo, there’s a story here,” Alya stepped forward, eyes eagerly darting between the two and Tikki laughed.

“Just old friends,” she waved a hand.

“ _Best_ friends,” Plagg corrected easily, as if he’d been doing it all their lives. “Now these, two. There’s your story.” He pointed to Marinette and Adrien and she watched as Alya’s eyes rounded on her.

“Hey!” Marinette turned on Nino who had remained suspiciously silent. “You two first!”

Alya sighed.

“Alright, alright. We’re going to need chairs,” she pointed to Nino and Plagg and then pointed to the back. The two men dutifully followed orders.  “And sustenance,” she pointed to Tikki and heralded her to the kitchen. Just before she rounded the corner, she winked at Marinette and she had to laugh. Marinette had known her one day, and Alya Cesaire was already her ultimate wingwoman.

She turned back to Adrien then, watching as he took a step away and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. She raised and eyebrow at him, and took a step closer to cancel out the distance he’d just created.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She laid her hands against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her waist again.

“Well, I didn’t want to presume...I mean we only just met...I literally learned your name 10 minutes ago…”

“I kissed you, chaton,” she reminded softly and smiled. “I think you can presume _at least_ as far as to return the favor.”

She tilted her head up towards him and watched as his eyes seemed to dance, a mischievous grin gracing his face. Then he pulled her close and gazed at her with a look of unabashed love and she was struck with the realization that she was looking at him the same exact way. He’d only learned her name ten minutes ago, true, but she had a feeling they’d have more than enough time for their minds to catch up with their hearts.

In that moment, she’d never seen someone more beautiful. Whether it was just who Adrien was or some sweet invention of a lover’s dream,  she didn’t know. What she did know was that she was in his arms, he was kissing her, and she was flying.

And for all she cared? She may never come down to earth again.


End file.
